


Do You Remember (The First Time)

by SinisterFiction (TheVineSpeaketh)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/SinisterFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands shot up to his hair, his expression growing pained. “Jesus Christ, Grantaire, I would’ve had sex with you on that dance floor with all those people watching and I wouldn’t have given a flying fuck,” he ground out, looking at Grantaire again, this time as if he’d personally offended him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Remember (The First Time)

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the song of the same name (minus the parenthesis) by Pulp. I just started playing music and suddenly imagined Grantaire and Enjolras grinding and... Well... You'll see where it goes.

Grantaire closed his door behind him with his foot, tossing his keys loudly into the bowl by his door and stripping his scarf from around his neck, leaving a stripe of a burn across the sensitive skin. He dropped his scarf to the floor, jerking his feet around to kick off his shoes as he shirked off his coat, throwing it over the back of his couch before walking toward the side of it. He spun on his heel and fell onto his back on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes.

Images swam, unbidden, behind his eyes the moment he closed them: blonde hair loosely tied back fraying from the braid as a sinuous body swayed in time with the music, all of that lovely bronze skin pressing against him, each point of contact setting fire to his nerves and singeing like lightning struck. His hands tingled with the memory of clasping a thin pair of hips underneath his hands and tugging that lithe body closer, feeling the ripple of his motion against his body. He remembered grinding in time with him, his head leaning over his shoulder to glance down the planes of his body, his hands reaching back and threading into Grantaire’s hair—

He groaned, turning himself over before deciding the darkness resulting from him pushing his face into his couch was far too reminiscent of the darkness in the club where he’d gotten brash enough to grab hold of Enjolras and tug him toward him, greedily keeping him close and away from reaching hands and eager eyes. He turned again, sitting up and leaning over his legs, setting his elbows on his knees and scrubbing his face, making sure he didn’t cover his eyes entirely again.

His entire body still thrummed with something visceral and primal, something that had risen from near-dormancy the second he’d gotten his hands on Enjolras’s flesh, tugging him away from some random guy attempting to get closer and closer to him through the throngs of dancing people. That something had encouraged him to loop his fingers in Enjolras’s belt-loops, to pull them entirely together until there was nothing left between them, to lay a sort of claim on him.

It had been a quick glance up at the bar and the sight of Courfeyrac excitedly talking to Combeferre, who was watching them with a look on his face—a _look_ —that had caused Grantaire to snap back to reality. As quickly as he’d gotten there, he’d left, darting through the crowd and disappearing into the night as quickly as he could possibly manage, fear and shame spiking through him in equal measure.

Apparently even the long walk home through the crisp night and his subsequent flop on his couch couldn’t do anything to quell that monster inside of him that had purred at the feeling of Enjolras against him, his body doing sinful things that would have made a lesser man weep and his hands reaching to thread through Grantaire’s hair.

He glanced down hesitantly at his lap, pleased to see he didn’t have some kind of boner or anything—he probably didn’t have one in the club, then, if he didn’t have one now, and honestly, he was glad he was spared any further embarrassment after the events of tonight.

He groaned again, scrubbing hard at his eyes as the very thought of the phrase “the events of tonight” brought back vivid images of the view of Enjolras’s body over his shoulder. “Get a fucking coffee,” he told himself, getting off the couch and stretching for a second, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that he began to see stars flash behind his eyelids. “Get a coffee, put on some music, paint, and don’t let yourself think.” He looked around his living room for a moment before nodding, padding toward the kitchen and busying his hands with getting out his favorite mug, starting the coffee machine and shrugging rather apathetically at the semi-dirty coffee pot. He waited for the coffee to brew, looking at the cabinet where he kept his liquor and contemplating spiking his coffee cup when he heard a knock at the door.

He froze with apprehension, immediately deciding to pretend he wasn’t home and wait for whoever was knocking to bugger off. He wasn’t ready for a chewing out from Joly or Bossuet about not texting when he got home, which he was no doubt about to receive. At that opportune moment, though, the coffee machine began croaking loudly, and whoever was at the door knocked again. Grantaire groaned, pinching his nose before shooting a murderous glare at the coffee machine before walking to the door. He stood in front of it, hesitating, but the knock sounded out again. He let himself have a second to heave a heavy sigh before flicking the lock, pulling the door open, pinching his nose again and closing his eyes to quell his oncoming headache. “Hey—”

“What the fuck, Grantaire,” the person on the other side said, and Grantaire’s eyes opened and widened comically when he saw that it was a disheveled and incredibly pissed of Enjolras at his door. Without any further ado, he barreled on past Grantaire, undoing his neatly wrapped scarf and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door, toeing off his shoes and working on unbuttoning his coat. Grantaire shut the door, gaping dumbly at Enjolras, because he was here _in Grantaire’s apartment,_ where he totally should not have been, and what the fuck was even happening right now?

“I mean, I get that we didn’t start out on the best of terms,” Enjolras was saying, steamrolling any response Grantaire could’ve had to his presence with his angry monologue, “but I thought that we were making an effort to taking a step in the right direction, so to speak. I mean, I’ve been less of an asshole lately, with a pointed purpose, mind you.” He hung his coat on the same hook as his scarf, beginning to pace in Grantaire’s living room as Grantaire frantically picked up his scarf and began adjusting his shoes on the floor, unable to process what was going on. “I haven’t been trying to be nice with any sort of effort; it’s been coming naturally, because, once I got to really know you and we stopped deliberately antagonizing each other, I found out I like you. And what do you know, turns out feelings can evolve even further, as mine have clearly done, and I was hoping I was telegraphing that sort of interest clearly whenever we saw each other. I thought we were really getting somewhere with the holiday party we held for Les Amis, especially after the mistletoe kiss, and with that other kiss on New Year’s, I thought maybe you’d been trying to ease your way into everything. I was content to wait for you to feel comfortable around me before I started maybe suggesting we go out for a coffee or two, especially since we’ve started hanging out on our own lately.”

He stopped pacing and suddenly looked Grantaire in the eye right as he was turning back toward him from hanging his scarf up, the look in his eyes angrily halting every tactic Grantaire had been trying to come up with for getting his coat off the couch and hanging that up, too. He pinned him in place with that look, molten and fierce and fucking _amazing_ , and Grantaire tried to stop himself from whining and his knees from buckling. “And then tonight happened” –Grantaire fought a wince at the mention of “tonight”—“and I thought for sure you’d finally thought to make the first move, and you were pulling me toward you like you wanted nobody else to touch me, and…”

His hands shot up to his hair, his expression growing pained. “Jesus _Christ_ , Grantaire, I would’ve had sex with you on that dance floor with all those people watching and I wouldn’t have given a flying _fuck_ ,” he ground out, looking at Grantaire again, this time as if he’d personally offended him. “ _God_ , the way you were touching me, the _feel_ of you…” Grantaire simply stared at him, his eyes wide, and this was all moving too fast, Enjolras had to slow down, he wasn’t able to process this so quickly—

“And then you fucking _left_ , you rat bastard,” Enjolras said, his tone vehement, and he looked about ready to strangle Grantaire where he stood. “You _left me_ , and I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that it totally wasn’t me, because as far as I know, we were just doing something incredibly sexual on a dance floor, and you certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself, since _you_ grabbed _me_ , so I decided I was going to get to the bottom of this if it killed me. Because having your hands on me was the best fucking thing to happen to me since I met you, and I will do _anything_ on this planet to get you to touch me like that again.” He let out a frustrated groan, fisting his hands in his hair again, closing his eyes. Grantaire let his gaze race over Enjolras as his mind stumbled on behind him, lingering on his lips, his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his hips, his thighs—

“ _God_ , I want you so badly,” Enjolras was saying, and that was when Grantaire’s mind finally caught up.

Instead of doing something intelligent, like pausing to talk this out, figure what it could mean, the primal part of Grantaire that had snatched Enjolras in the first place pushed him to take two long strides forward and loop his fingers in his belt loops again, yanking him forward and pressing them flush against one another again. Enjolras released his hair, immediately grasping at Grantaire’s shoulders for purchase, a small little gasp punctuating the motion. Then, Grantaire kissed him, filthy and deep, his hands leaving his jeans to tug bodily at his hips, pushing him so hard into him that Enjolras moaned into their kiss. His hands glided up his neck, resting just under his ears and keeping him close. Grantaire ground their hips together, enjoying the way Enjolras let out a breathy noise as their lips parted for just a moment before they came back together again.

After a heady bout of kissing, during which Grantaire’s coffee pot decided it was done brewing and Grantaire had heated up all over again, he pulled away just slightly, looking at Enjolras. He took in his glassy eyes, his flushed cheeks, and the glistening, pinkening skin of his lips. Each of Enjolras’s breaths were coming out in whines sweeter and headier than wine, and Grantaire growled, kissing Enjolras again and slowly walking him backward, steering him with hands caging his hips until the back of his legs hit the couch. Grantaire let him fall, clambering on top of him as soon as he slid further up the couch and laying himself on top of him, swallowing Enjolras’s moan, shuddering and groaning on each breath as Enjolras’s hands began roaming over him, sliding under his shirt and skimming up his chest, grasping his hips and pulling them together. Grantaire rolled his hips, and Enjolras spread his legs as best he could, letting out musical moans as Grantaire kissed and nipped at his neck, sucking hickeys into the smooth column of skin there.

“Gran _taire_ ,” Enjolras moaned, his voice breaking, his hands shooting to Grantaire’s shoulders to steady himself as Grantaire pressed one hand into the couch to hold himself up, the other sliding under Enjolras’s shirt, his hips still rolling into Enjolras. His breath came heavy across Enjolras’s skin, and sometimes he had to press his forehead to Enjolras’s collarbone to catch his breath. Briefly, he wondered if this was what Enjolras wanted, but when he tried to move, Enjolras’s hands pressed him back into place, his voice stuttering on a broken, “no, _please,_ don’t stop,” and Grantaire was helpless to deny him anything when he said it like _that_.

Grantaire rucked up Enjolras’s shirt, leaning down low to suck bruises into his chest and abuse his nipples as his hand reached down between them and flicked the button of Enjolras’s jeans open, sliding the zipper down quickly. Without any warning, he pushed past the waistband of Enjolras’s boxers before grasping at him, sliding his hand gently along his length and swiping his palm over the head.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Enjolras whined, and Grantaire growled, feeling himself strain at that tone, and with a bite on Enjolras’s ribs and a tight squeeze, he let out a long, low groan, his body going taut underneath Grantaire, his arms flying up above his head. It took him a moment to come down, during which Grantaire propped himself on his elbows and watched him, admiring the abused length of his neck and his blissed-out look before his eyes snapped open and he looked at Grantaire again, just as hungry as they started.

“I _need_ to get my hands on you,” Enjolras said, sitting up and kissing Grantaire, maneuvering him during their kiss so Enjolras was the one on top, Grantaire groaning underneath him. He pulled at the loose collar of Grantaire’s shirt, yanking it down so he could nip and suck at Grantaire’s collarbone, earning him a breathy noise. His hands moved all over him, mapping every inch of his skin, and as they slowly drifted lower, Enjolras’s lips drifted higher, making marks all along his neck as his hands teased lower and lower on his stomach until he was unfastening Grantaire’s jeans. He planted one hand by Grantaire’s head, the other reaching into his pants and grasping hold of him. Grantaire’s loud groan was swallowed by Enjolras’s fervent kissing, his hand moving slow and steady, but slowly growing faster, until each motion was punctuated with a groan from Grantaire. His hands slid along Enjolras’s skin, up his shirt and around his back, his hips weakly jerking in time with Enjolras’s hand.

“Fuck,” he said quietly under his breath, and Enjolras nipped at the bottom of his ear.

“God, you’re so gorgeous like this,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire felt his blood quickening even further, his body winding tighter in a telltale sign that he was quickly reaching his limit. “All spread out under me, moaning for me. Fuck, I can’t get enough of you. I really would have fucked you on that dance floor, let you mark me all over and make me yours—”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Grantaire groaned, “ _Enj_ —”

Enjolras cut him off, kissing him deep and filthy as he stroked him through his orgasm, Grantaire’s hands gripping him underneath his shirt as if his very life depended on it. He slumped, boneless, against the couch, Enjolras propped up against him, and they kissed lazily for a while. Grantaire was still buzzing when they pulled away, but he felt sated and happy. He looked Enjolras in the eyes, suddenly nervous, but Enjolras’s tired smile reassured him. “Hi,” Enjolras said quietly, resting his head against Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire relegated his gaze to the ceiling instead, once again trying to let his mind catch up.

“Hey,” Grantaire replied, bringing his hand up to stroke through Enjolras’s hair, pulling out the hair tie he’d pulled it up with gently. Enjolras hummed, nuzzling his chest for a moment.

They were quiet for another moment before Enjolras leaned up slowly, his hands on either side of Grantaire’s waist on the couch. He looked down at Grantaire, his smile not fading. “I think we should clean up,” he said, despite sounding like he wanted nothing more than to lay on Grantaire all night, “and maybe talk about this.”

Grantaire figured he must’ve cast Enjolras a look of apprehension, because he leaned down and kissed Grantaire so sweetly and soundly that Grantaire’s cock gave a twitch of interest—who knew genuine affection was a turn on? He didn’t. “It’s nothing bad,” Enjolras said as they pulled away. His smile was kind and sweet, and his eyes glanced sporadically across Grantaire’s facial features, as if cataloging every detail. “I promise.”

Grantaire mustered a smile of his own. “Alright,” he said, and Enjolras crawled backward enough for Grantaire to be able to sit up, stretching slowly before coming to a lazy stand. “I’ll get us a couple of towels and we’ll talk.”

Enjolras smiled at him from where he was sitting on the couch. “Deal,” he said, coming to a stand as well, pulling Grantaire toward him and kissing him thoroughly before turning toward the kitchen. “I’m going to wash my hands. Did I hear you making coffee earlier?” he asked. Grantaire nodded, humming gently under his breath in contentment. “I’ll get us two cups, then,” Enjolras replied, and without further ado, he headed toward the kitchen, leaving Grantaire to head toward the bathroom.

He pulled a washcloth off the clean stack he kept in the cabinet, running the water over his hand and waiting for it to grow warm. While waiting, he listened as Enjolras moved around the kitchen, grinning slightly to himself as he heard him humming genially.

“It’s gotten a bit cold,” Enjolras called back to him, and he laughed. “Shall I pop it in the microwave for a few seconds?” Enjolras asked, sounding amused.

“Sure,” Grantaire replied, warmth spreading through him, and he stuck the rag under the warm water, looking up and catching his reflection in the mirror. His lips were kiss-swollen and red, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright and his neck covered in blossoming bruises and bite marks. His body pleasantly thrummed with the afterglow, He smiled at himself, turned off the tap, wrung out the towel, and headed toward the kitchen.

When he returned to the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of Enjolras waiting patiently by the microwave, his hands flat on the counter, a pensive look in his eye. He glanced over at Grantaire and gave a smile, sheepish and small, and Grantaire gave one in return.

“Hey, you,” Grantaire said from the door, and Enjolras beamed.

“Hey, you,” he said in reply, and Grantaire knew for certain he was well and truly gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


End file.
